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Goro: Wait Right Here
Content Warnings: Child neglect, triggering of post-traumatic stress response. -- "Wait right here," she told him, and he did. It was nighttime, but he didn't sleep, because he wanted to be awake when she came back. # When he was thirsty, he drank the rainwater that pooled on the window ledge of the small, empty shack they'd been hiding in. Mama used to collect the rain in a cup so it was easier to drink, but she'd taken the cup with her. When he got hungry, he wasn't sure what to do. She'd told him to wait. If he left to find food, and she came back while he was gone, she might not be able to find him again. So he kept waiting. He waited another day. And then, he just couldn't anymore. He was too hungry. He left his shoes inside the shack, because if she came back and saw them, she'd know he was still close. Maybe she'd wait for him, then. He didn't go very far. He found a garbage bin in an alleyway. There was an apple core, some carrot tops, and the bones of a fish that still had a tiny bit of meat to pick off. He ate it all. He cried when he was done, because he was still hungry, but he was too scared to go any farther and find more food. He tried eating the fish bones, but stopped when the first ones got stuck in his throat. When he got back to the shack, his shoes were gone. Maybe Mama had come back, and taken them, and went to go find him. He waited. # "Did you get enough to eat?" Amari asked. "We can go to the bakery and get you one of those little tarts you love so much." "I'm fine," Goro muttered. He was sick of wandering around the market with Amari's six grocery baskets hanging from his arms. "I just wanna fucking go. Ain't that Church money you'd be buying it with, anyway?" She smiled conspiratorially. "I won't tell if you don't." Goro rolled his eyes. She got on his case any time she caught him nicking from the offering tray, but here she was, willing to throw a few of Helm's coppers toward buying him a fucking pie. "Oh, look!" she said. Goro didn't look. "Braeton's flower cart is back! Oh, he has the most beautiful hydrangeas. I have to go take a look. Wait right here." She put a hand on Goro's elbow and steered him toward a bench a few feet away, then took the baskets off his arms for him, setting them on the bench and on the ground in front of it. "I'll be just a minute." Goro slouched on the bench and didn't watch where she went. It was hot out, the middle of August, and he was sweating in his vestments. He grabbed the high collar of his robe and tried in vain to fan himself. He caught a slight movement out the corner of his eye that made him sit up straighter. It was a tiny waif of a girl, with big brown eyes, barefoot and filthy. She eyed the baskets of produce, then eyed Goro warily. "The fuck do you want?" he asked her. He waved at the baskets. "This food's for the Church. Go there if you're fuckin' hungry." He could tell he'd frightened her, but instead of running off, she kept looking at the food. The shiny red apples, in particular. It was like there was a tether between her and the fruit, and didn't matter how scared she was. "You hear me, or what?" he said. "This ain't a fucking charity. Get lost." The girl glanced at him one more time, then slowly began to back away. Kept looking between him and the fruit. "Fuck's sake," he muttered. He grabbed an apple out of the basket and tossed it at her. She caught it, then turned on her heel and darted away, quick as a bird. Goro shook his head. Fucking hell. Where was Amari, anyway? The heat was getting to him. His black hair and black robe were a goddamn magnet for the sun, and he was getting flushed, too. He stood up, shielding his eyes from the glare, and scanned the market square. He didn't see her—she was pretty short, though, that wasn't surprising—and he didn't see a flower cart, either. He sat down with a huff. God fucking damn it. How fucking long did it take to look at hydrangeas, or whatever? And her leaving him here, with all these fruits and vegetables, cooking away in the heat. The longer she was gone, the antsier he got. He kept hopping to his feet, pacing around by the bench and searching the crowd, his heart pounding harder each time. Fuck's sake. Wasn't like he could gather up the baskets and go look for her, since if she came back she wouldn't know where he'd gone, and… hell, maybe she'd just forgotten about him and fucked off back to the abbey, and how long was he supposed to sit there waiting before he just fucking gave up— He rubbed irritably at his face, pacing still, kicking pebbles. When she finally reappeared, carrying a modest bouquet of flowers, he rounded on her with his fists clenched. "Sorry about that," she began. "I ran into an old—" "The fuck is wrong with you?" he snapped, and she looked startled. "You think you can just fucking leave me sitting here guarding all your shit all day long?" She blinked a few times, and her face fell. "Goro, what happened?" "I just fucking told you what happened! What am I, your fucking errand boy? Tote me along so I can drag your shit around and then sit and wait and wait and fucking wait all goddamn day when I have no fucking idea where you are 'cause you pranced off to look at hydrangeas or whatever the fuck?" "Oh… sweetheart." She reached for his face, and he jerked away like she was holding a knife. She didn't push it. "What's wrong? What's really wrong? Something happened." "That is what's really fucking wrong." He kicked the basket of apples, knocking it over and sending them tumbling out, rolling every which way. For a second he almost bent over to start picking them up—it was automatic, now, helping Amari out with stuff—but he stopped himself. He kicked one of the apples, instead, sending it flying off in two chunks, landing in the gutter for some other street kid to pick up and eat later. Amari was still as she watched him. She looked him up and down, and seemed to decide something. Then she started gathering up the apples. "Walk it off, Goro. I'll meet you back at the abbey." "I don't need to walk it off." She didn't argue, but she didn't agree with him, either; just kept picking up apples and putting them in the basket. "Hey—fuckin'—''look'' at me." He wanted to kick the basket again, but he didn't want to accidentally kick her hand in the process. "You can't just fucking send me away like that. Fuck you." She stopped what she was doing and turned her face up to him, looking him straight in the eye. "I'm not sending you away. You're upset, and I want you to calm down so you can tell me why. I'll talk to you as soon as you're ready." He cursed a few more times under his breath and reached for the other baskets, but she held up a hand to stop him. "I'll get them. You, go. Walk." "Fuck off," he said, and stormed away. A few people were staring, and he flipped them off as he went. He walked fast, hunched over with his arms crossed, but it wasn't fast enough, so he started running. No destination in mind, and he knew the streets of Skyport too well to ever get lost in them. Maybe he'd leave the city. Just keep running, and running, and running. Wasn't like Amari was gonna fucking want him back now, whatever she said. # Wedged in between Hansel and Mishka, he finally managed to sleep, for a bit. Was none too happy about it when he woke up from a nightmare. Calling it a nightmare was almost an exaggeration. It had been a pretty unremarkable dream, just made him feel miserable. Jasmilia had been back in the manor, and the two of them had been alone in the kitchen, and she kept arguing with him. "You wandered away from me in a market, when you were little, and I couldn't find you," she said. "That's not fucking true," he said. "You left me, in that shack we were sleeping in. You told me to wait there, and you never came back." "No, sweetheart. You must have dreamed that." He got more and more frustrated that she wouldn't believe him, until it was enough to wake him up. He wanted out of the bed, but it might wake up Hansel and Mishka, and then they'd want to know what was wrong and yada yada. He listened to their breathing, making sure they were really asleep. Then he closed his eyes again and focused inward, determining whether he had enough magic recovered to get out a different way. He did. He breathed in and out, praying silently, then dimension stepped out of the bed. He reappeared just inside the door and watched to make sure they'd keep sleeping. Hansel shifted a little, frowning, and his arms stretched out in search of a warm body. Luckily, Mishka was right there, and Mishka rolled over, filling the empty space left by Goro. They didn't stir, beyond that. Goro slipped out of the room. Jasmilia and Peter's bedroom was cold, what with the broken window. Fucking gaping security risk, right there. They still had an all-night watch going—far as Goro could tell, anyway; nobody was asking him to help with it. Must've figured he had enough on his plate to deal with. Still, he hoped whoever was patrolling outside had eyes on that window. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, in here. Someone had taken the bedding out and burned it, but there were still some blood stains on the mattress. Honestly, Goro wanted to burn the whole fucking house down, but they could probably make a good bit of money if they sold it instead. He couldn't wait to be done with the place, either way. But he started rifling through the room. Some kind of weird compulsion driving him to it. She had drawers of jewelry and hair clips and shit. They could sell all that, too, but Goro picked up fistfuls of it, wanting to break it. Pearls and jewels and delicate gold filigree. I ate trash. I ate fucking trash. I ate the moldy ends that had been scraped off cheese, and stale heels of bread, and rotten vegetable peels. I ate weeds that grew out of cracks in the cobblestone. My entire waking life was a quest for things to put in my stomach. People stole my shoes off me when I slept. I cut my own hair with a knife whenever it got long enough for people to grab me by it. And you wore fucking pearls. He forced himself to unclench his fingers and drop the jewelry. Had to be intact to make good money off it. And what else could he possibly have grown up to be, besides a greedy bastard who couldn't stop hoarding money? He slammed the drawer shut and went to the wardrobe next. Threw the doors open, intending to take a look at her clothes, for whatever reason. He was elbows deep in the hanging dresses, rummaging through, when… something happened to him. And he went completely still, overwhelmed. The scent of her, on her clothes. It washed over him like a spell, like a potion, firing him back in time, twenty-five, thirty years, shrinking him down, turning him into a little boy clutching at his mother, curling up in her arms, safe. Mama. That was all he was reduced to. And she'd left him. He stumbled away from the wardrobe, then came back just to shove the doors shut, like he could lock away all the fucking feelings, like they existed only as memories clinging to those clothes. He slammed the doors so hard they swung right back open, and he smacked them shut again, then gave up, backing away and sinking to the floor, hugging himself, rocking himself. Don't cry, he thought, while doing exactly that. Crying makes you look weak and scared. But that was what he was. What he really fucking was. He shuddered and gasped for air, wailing softly, tears pouring into his hands and leaking through his fingers. Hell of a lot of fucking tears. He heard the footsteps coming for him, but he didn't react. Didn't really need to. Hansel scooped him up anyway, sitting next to him on the floor, pulling Goro onto his lap. "Come here, chatichi, come here. Shh, shh, it's okay." Goro shook his head violently as his hands scrabbled for something to grab onto—no shirt or anything, so his arms went around Hansel's neck, and he clung there like he was hanging from a cliff, sobbing and gasping against Hansel's shoulder. "She left me. She left me," Goro said, over and over, couldn't fucking stop, and Hansel kept saying, "I know, I know," and rubbing his back, kissing his head. And, "I got you. It's okay." "Don't leave me," Goro said. "I won't," Hansel said, and held him tighter. His most pathetic, desperate plea. The one that followed him everywhere, the one that didn't do any good to say, because people either left you or they didn't, and asking didn't make a difference. He knew Hansel wasn't going to walk away from him, he knew he didn't have to ask for it, but it spilled out of him anyway, since it was all he could do in that moment. Cry, and cling, and beg. This was what she'd done to him. This was what she'd done, trying to make him strong. Category:Vignettes Category:Goro Category:Lina